


Hate Crime

by tj_teejay



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Activism, Angst, Blind Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Gen, Post-Season/Series 01, Pre-Season/Series 02, Vigilantism, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-20 22:18:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9518441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tj_teejay/pseuds/tj_teejay
Summary: Matt runs into another group of thugs during one of his nightly adventures, but they seem to have an entirely different agenda than just your basic crime spree. Because is it really so absurd that there’d be anti-Daredevil activists out there? Apparently not.





	

**Author's Note:**

> **Timeframe:** This is set a few weeks after the season 1 finale.  
>  **Bingo Prompt:** Flying Spin Kick  
>  **Author's Note:** I finished the first draft of this story way back in 2015, but for some reason never got my act together enough to finalize it until end of 2016. Hence the timeframe prior to season 2.
> 
> It started out as a short one-shot that was wrapped around a request from [r3zuri](http://archiveofourown.org/users/r3zuri/pseuds/r3zuri) who was longing for something that would explain the "World on Fire" bit better. And in terms of the latter, all I have to go on is the sparse explanation on the show and what I imagine it to be. So I wrote that, slowly realizing there was a tiniest hint of a bigger plot hidden in it. That grew. And then grew some more. And here we are. Nelson and Murdock, Avocados at Law.
> 
> Even though I did try to do a little bit of online research, I don’t know much about law and trials and court dates, and how any of that works in the real world. Please accept the legal things in here with a copious amount of hand-waving. If you have any helpful insight into that, please let me know in the comments.
> 
> Thanks go out to the lovely folks from the Dreamwidth daredevilkink meme for providing valuable input into the general storyline when I was getting a little stuck. A thank you also goes out to shot-of-patron, who gave me invaluable plot advice around the trickier lawyery stuff, and to Kerry and Ash for helping me give this thing a final polish.
> 
> +-+-+-+-+

The baseball bat to the ribcage is brutal, and Matt stumbles backwards, letting out a subdued moan. Even through the suit, he can feel the bruise that’s going to form there.

 _Focus!_ he chides himself. _Focus, dammit!_

He barely has time to reflect on this random, seemingly unprovoked attack. His assailants are ready for another strike, and Matt ducks just in time, deflecting the punch as masterfully as he’s practiced for all these years.

On a good night, or even on a normal night, he would have already finished these amateur thugs, but the constant battles are taking their toll, as well as the sleep deprivation. The two cracked ribs from his last run-in with the Yakuza have barely started healing, and the faint ringing in his ears from the explosion he was scarcely far enough away from two days ago makes it harder to get his bearings. The meditation helps, but it’s not a miracle cure. His movements are sluggish, his reaction time is lagging.

He isn’t exactly sure why they’re attacking him, or who they are. He has no time to dwell on it, because number two is coming at him again. He lets out a low, angry yell and elbows him in the face. Number two is going down like a lump of lead.

It’s number one and three he needs to worry about, and he lashes out with both arms, spinning around as he does so. He takes out number one with a flying spin kick and a punch to the cheekbone, which has the desired effect. But then number three grabs his ankle, yanks it up, and twists.

Matt goes down, hitting the ground hard with his already injured shoulder. An involuntary scream of pain escapes his mouth.

“Just what we thought. Not so badass now, huh, Daredevil?” he can hear the mocking voice of his assailant growl.

Number three still has his ankle in his grip and keeps twisting with a sharp yank. Matt swears he can feel something pop in his joint. The pain nearly overtakes him, and he doesn’t know where the clarity of mind is coming from, but he pulls his remaining billy club out of his leg pocket and takes aim.

He listens to the whirring sound it makes as it rotates through the air before it hits number three’s head with a dull clank. The pressure on his ankle releases as the guy slumps to the ground. Matt is positive he hit him right across the temple.

He lets his head fall back against the cold concrete of the abandoned building to catch his breath. He knows he has to get out of here before his attackers regain consciousness, but he needs to take inventory first.

His ankle screams for attention the loudest, but he moves past it. What else? He ignores scrapes and superficial bruises. A gash in his back has opened up. Claire can fix that. The two hairline fractures in his fifth and sixth rib are still there—creaking slightly, like old wood under pressure. He thinks there might be a new hairline fracture in his left clavicle, but he could be wrong about that one. Ever since the suit, the flesh wounds have become less frequent. Now it was mostly blunt force trauma and its aftereffects.

He focuses his attention back to his right ankle. The dull throbbing is getting worse, but he is fairly sure that nothing is broken. One of the ligaments is partly torn, which he knows is going to be a nuisance.

He gets to his feet with a groan, limps a few steps, and hisses, “Shit.” He isn’t exactly mobile like this.

It takes him a while to get out of the building and to relative safety in a dark corner. He fishes the burner phone out of his pocket. Claire is his first choice. Of course. He gets her voicemail and swears under this breath. She’s allowed a life. He can’t expect her to be at his beck and call 24 hours, seven days a week.

He calls Foggy, even though he knows he’s going to get an earful. Again.

“Uh oh,” he hears his friend at the other end. “You calling from this number is never a good thing.”

“Yeah,” Matt rasps. “Can you come pick me up?”

“Are you bleeding half to death? Do I need to call your nurse friend?”

“No. I just can’t really walk.”

“Oh.” There’s a slight pause at the other end, then, “Okay, where are you?”

Matt gives him his location. It’s going to be a long half hour. He breathes in and tries to connect with his surroundings. The first of the attackers seems to be stirring, and he hopes his temporary hiding place is good enough to get away with until Foggy arrives.

There’s more activity in the building, and Matt breathes a sigh of relief when the three of them lick their wounds and leave without looking back.

What was that back there? He couldn’t figure out if they belonged to a group or a gang. The attack seemed out of the blue, without provocation or backstory that he is aware of. Is he missing a vital clue? Was there a new threat? A piece of the puzzle that will eventually form Fisk’s revenge? They didn’t seem the type that Fisk would hire—way too sloppy. It puzzles him.

He isn’t sure how much time passes until he hears a car stopping around the corner. It sounds like a taxi cab, which makes sense. Foggy doesn’t have a car. He hears the door slam, someone gets out of the cab. The footsteps, heartbeat, a faint whiff of his aftershave—yes, very much Foggy.

It’s not long until he hears the familiar voice hissing, “Matt? Where are you, buddy?”

“Over here,” he indicates, awkwardly hobbling into what he hopes is some kind of view.

He’s fairly sure Foggy is sizing him up. Yeah, he was visible. “Man, you weren’t kidding.”

“Would I ever kid about this?”

Foggy nearly cuts him off with his response. “No! Sorry, I’m just...”

“Yeah,” Matt says on an outward breath. “Can we—”

“Here,” Foggy does interrupt this time, thrusting something that feels like a bag into his hands. “Figured you could use a change of outfit. Not sure the taxi driver would appreciate a horned guy in Spandex in his back seat.”

Matt’s mouth curves into a faint grin that vanishes quickly. Foggy rambles on. “They’re mine. Probably way too big for you, and I—”

“Foggy,” he interjects. “It’s fine.”

“Yeah, I’ll, uh... I’ll just turn around, okay?”

The clothes are at least two sizes too big and smell of fabric softener, but Matt is grateful for his friend’s foresight. He groans as he puts his shoe back on, which he knows prompts Foggy to ask, “Need any help?”

“No, I’m good,” he lies—something that comes way too easily by now. “Help me up, will you?”

Foggy turns back around, and Matt knows he’s trying to hide a grin.

Matt has to ask. “I look ridiculous, don’t I?”

There’s definite amusement in Foggy’s voice, but he’s trying not to let it show. Sound. “On a scale of one to ten, I’d say a nine... And a half. Definite fail blog worthiness right here, ladies and gentlemen.”

Foggy walks closer, draping Matt’s arm around his shoulder, and together they make their way out into the street. The _swish-swish_ noise of passing cars on other streets crowds around them. “Okay, on second thought, maybe I should have asked the guy to park a little closer.”

Matt just grits his teeth and concentrates on moving. The back seat of the taxi seems like a little piece of heaven, when they finally get there.

+-+-+-+-+

“Well, at least they steered clear of your face this time,” Foggy remarks drily as they both assess the damage to Matt’s foot back in his living room.

“Under the circumstances, I’m not sure I consider that a blessing,” Matt counters. “I’d take a gash across the brow over a busted ankle any day.”

“I’m glad you’re maintaining a sense of humor about this. It’s not broken, is it?”

With his leg propped up on the couch, Matt peels off the sock as carefully as he can, feeling his face contorting in a pained grimace. “No. The ligament’s partially torn, though.”

“You know, your x-ray vision is still kinda freaking me out.”

“It’s not x-ray vision.”

“I know. I’m just sayin’.”

“Can you check the freezer? I think Claire put some gel packs in there.”

“The fact that you even have those ready to go says a damn freaking lot.”

“Yeah, welcome to my life,” Matt sighs.

Foggy returns with a gel pack wrapped in a dish towel, which he hands to Matt. “Just for the record, I’m not real good with the,” he waves his hand in the air in a rotating motion, “whole first aid routine. Are you sure I shouldn’t call your nurse friend?”

“Her name’s Claire.”

“I know. And I really think we should call her.”

“I tried. Went straight to voice mail. I think she may be out of the city.”

“That’s a bummer.”

“I know. I’ll manage. Not the first time.”

Foggy lets out a huffy breath. “Yeah, I’ll bet.”

Matt places the ice pack between the backrest and his foot, reveling in the marginal amount of relief the coolness brings. He can practically feel Foggy staring at him, and it almost makes him grin. “You’re hovering.”

“I just told you I’m not real good with this.”

“Foggy, you don’t need to stay. I’m fine.”

“The hell you are. You can barely walk. It cuts into my jaded little lawyer heart that you’d even think I’d leave you here by yourself.”

Matt can tell he wanted to make it sound lighthearted and humorous, but he knows his friend more than means it. He swallows against a lump forming in his throat. He also knows he doesn’t deserve any of this, the worry and the care.

Foggy paces a few steps near Matt’s head. Clearly there’s something on his mind. “Okay, so, uh... Okay. I don’t know how to say this.”

“Just say it.”

“I should probably check you for other injuries, so you, uh...”

“It’s just minor scrapes and bruises.”

“Oh. Right. The x-ray vision thing. How could I forget?”

“It's not x-ray. I just told you.”

“And I told you I know,” he says. “All of this would be well and fine, except you’re bleeding into my shirt. My _good_ shirt. You know, the Star Trek one.”

“I’m wearing a Star Trek shirt?”

“Yeah, the one with the tiny communicators.”

Matt frowns. He has no idea what Foggy is talking about, but he tries to focus his attention on his body. He remembers the gash he tore during the fight; he can feel it now. “Must have opened up that cut in my back.” He starts to unbutton the shirt.

“Ew, that’s nasty,” he can hear Foggy say, as the gash is exposed. “That’s, like... so out of my league, dude. Maybe we should call Karen.”

“And tell her what? That I was in a bogus car accident? _Again_?”

“Okay, okay, you have a point. I just... I’m not sure I can do this.”

“I’ll walk you through it. The first aid kit is in the kitchen cupboard on the left. The black metal box.”

“No, seriously. If you want me to put a needle through your skin, I’m gonna puke.”

“Relax, Foggy. You can use the butterfly strips. It’ll be fine.”

“From your lips to God’s ears. And I mean that in the most un-blasphemous sense.”

They spend the next few minutes in silence except for Matt’s occasional verbal direction. He can tell Foggy’s ultra careful, even if he's uncomfortable. He also realizes that Foggy is secretly checking his body for other injuries. Matt finds it almost endearing—and utterly unnecessary, because he doesn't deserve this, either.

Foggy’s breath of relief when he’s done is clearly audible. “Please tell me that’s all of it.”

“As far as I can tell.” He turns his head in Foggy’s direction. “Thanks,” he mutters.

“Yeah.” That’s all he says, voice unusually solemn, as he packs the medical equipment away.

He goes into the bedroom and returns with a handful of clothes, which he puts within easy reach before heading to the kitchen. “I want my pants back.”

As Matt changes into the sweatpants and fresh t-shirt with an effort, he can hear Foggy rummaging around. “You looking for something?”

“I need a drink.”

“There’s beer in the fridge.”

“No, something stronger. Preferably something that induces amnesia if consumed in large quantities.”

“Kitchen cupboard to your right.”

He can feel Foggy hesitating, then he bends down to open one.

“No, not that one, the one next to it.”

“Okay,” Foggy says, “I mean, seriously, _how_ do you do that?”

Matt isn’t sure what to say, so he just listens to the sound of clinking glass, a cork being removed, the gurgle of liquid being poured into a glass. Laphroaig quarter cask— the peaty, smoky smell and the faint coconut and banana aroma gives it away. Leave it to Foggy to go straight for the good stuff.

“You want some?” he asks.

“No thanks. Messes with my senses, remember?”

Foggy walks back over and sits down in the armchair opposite the couch. “Yeah, and now that I have you trapped here, cornered and immobile, you and I, we’re gonna have a talk about that.”

“About what?”

“Your... Spidey sense, or whatever it is. I wanna know how that works.”

“I thought I explained it to you.”

“You tried. But I still don’t get it. I mean, air vibrations and, and... world on fire, what does that even mean?”

Matt sighs. Claire asked him the same question, and he just doesn’t know to put it into words. “I don’t know how to explain it. I don’t know how to make it make sense to anyone but me.”

“So, like, can you feel the air vibrating, or something?”

“No, it’s not like that.”

“Then what _is_ it like?” There’s frustration in Foggy’s tone. “Explain it to me like I’m a school kid. A not particularly bright school kid, if that helps. Not that I’m alluding to my own childhood experience here. Or, wait, maybe I am. Anyway...”

“Okay,” Matt starts, licking his lips, trying to come up with any kind of plausible analogy. Foggy’s smart. Smarter than Matt. He can figure this out. “It’s like... Imagine you’re swimming in a sea of ultra-light particles, that... that shift when there’s movement somewhere in that space.” He tries to make a motion with his hands, like he's holding a balloon while it inflates. He's not sure how well he does. “And—and the movement carries to where you are, but it’s almost instantaneous and it's all, it's all connected and three dimensional, so you can trace it back to where the ripples originated.

“The particles, they also transport temperature, so you can tell if it’s an inanimate object or a living being. And they also tell you if a solid object occupies a space and what its shape is.”

“And you can tell where and how far away things are with that, and what direction people and things are moving?”

“Yeah.”

“How?”

Matt sighs again. “How do you explain colors to a colorblind person?”

That stumps Foggy. “Okay, okay, point taken,” he says. “But, like, you feel it all with your skin, or something? Like a big sensory receptor?”

“Yes, pretty much.”

“So every time someone touches you, it’s like… like an explosion on your skin?”

Matt has to smile at the imagery. “Well, no, not exactly.”

“But you’re a lot more sensitive to touch.”

“Yes.”

“How sensitive?”

“Very.”

“Okay, I’m never going to touch you again,” Foggy says.

“It’s not just my skin. Smell and hearing factor in too. Let’s say you hear a car approaching without seeing it. You have an idea of where it is and in what direction it’s moving, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Now imagine that, only considerably amplified. A bit like echolocation.”

“So, uh, to what level of detail does it all go? Like, can you tell when there’s a fly sitting across the room?”

“Yes, because it moves and makes noise.”

“Okay, bad example. Say there’s an insect across the room, but you don’t know what it is. Can you tell if it’s a, I don’t know, fly or a bug or a spider?”

“Spiders aren’t insects.”

“Don’t be a dick. Just answer my question.”

“It really isn’t a good example, because there’s other things than size to tell them apart. But, yes, there’s limitations to what I can do. The details are sometimes sketchy. Like faces. I can,” he draws quotation marks in the air, “‘see’ them, but it’s more like an outline I have in my head. Like a coarse painting. Each one is unique, but not the way you see them. It’s… hard to describe.”

“But you can’t actually see anything with your eyes, right?”

“No.”

“So why do you keep saying you see a World on Fire?”

Matt rubs his dully aching forehead. “You’re asking too many questions.”

“What?” Foggy says exasperatedly, “I want to know all this. You said you wanted us to move forward. I need to understand what it is that makes you… well, _you_.”

“It was just an analogy, Foggy.”

“Yeah, I know that. Come on, I’m not stupid.”

Matt is silent for a moment, trying to control his temper and the pain in his foot that makes an untimely reappearance, like a sledgehammer's hit the arch. “I guess it’s the closest to how I can describe it. What I see in my head is like a... a rendition of my surroundings, as if they were made of... flames. Fire. The lines keep blurring when things move.”

“Is it red?”

That’s actually a good question, Matt thinks. “Colors are difficult. I remember them, but sometimes I wonder if my memory isn’t just playing tricks on me. But, no, it’s not always red. I don't think.”

“Is it also like that when you dream?”

That’s an even better question, and Matt wonders where it’s suddenly all coming from. “No. I dream like everyone else. I think. Not often that I remember what I dream.”

“Well, at least there’s _one_ normal thing about you.”

Matt scrubs a hand across his face. The exhaustion is finally hitting home. “Look, can we stop with the twenty questions now?”

Thankfully, Foggy takes the hint. “Yeah. I should let you get your beauty sleep. And if you get your sorry ass off the couch, I can take up residence here.”

“No,” Matt tells him, and he makes it sound like there’s no room for negotiation this time. “This is about as much babysitting as I can take.”

Foggy hesitates before he answers. His voice is uncannily sincere. “You don’t need to do it all alone, you know?”

Matt gives him an encouraging smile. “I’m not. If your guilty conscience plagues you too much, you can come back tomorrow morning with coffee and bagels. Use the spare key in the bowl by the door. Would save me a trip to the corridor.”

“You got it,” Foggy agrees, theatrically pointing a finger at him. “I will see you tomorrow.”

Matt listens as his friend fetches the key and leaves, all the way out into the street and into the cab he manages to stop a few minutes later. He’s immensely grateful for Foggy’s forgiving heart, for the fact that he has his friend back in his life. He’s surer than ever that he can’t do it without him and Karen, and a part of him is also relieved that Foggy finally knows his biggest secret.

With a low groan, he heaves his battered body off the couch to shower and turn in for the night. He knows it’s going to be a short night with too little restful sleep. The notion to meditate is a feeble comfort that he brushes aside. It would help with the pain and the healing, but it just doesn’t work with so many physical distractions clawing at his attention. Tomorrow will be another day.

He can start again.

+-+-+-+-+

“Matt?”

It’s Foggy. Of course. He comes into the apartment, waving a paper bag, balancing a cardboard cupholder in the other hand.

Matt greets him with a lopsided grin from his vantage point at the table, pushing his laptop aside and vacating the chair that his elevated foot was occupying. “I think I’m starting to like it when you have a guilty conscience.”

“Shut up. I brought food. You better not complain.”

“Yeah, I can smell that. _Three_ cups?”

“Oh, yeah,” Foggy says sheepishly. “I invited Karen. Thought we’d do a working-from-home day. _Your_ home. She should be here any minute. You don’t mind, do you?”

Matt shakes his head. A visit from Karen was inevitable, really. Foggy puts the breakfast on the table. Matt thinks he can detect tomato-mozzarella, ham, pastrami with egg, and smoked salmon with cream cheese. All good choices.

As if on cue, there’s a knock on the door. Foggy turns to him. “Can you…?”

Matt is about to give him a _Seriously?_ look, but Foggy quickly interjects. “Kidding. Here,” he holds out Matt’s sunglasses to him. It’s almost freaky how well-rehearsed a team they are. From the hallway, he calls, “Dibs on the smoked salmon!”

Foggy greets Karen at the door. There’s a little bit of awkwardness there he can’t deny. He has been in a lot of “accidents” lately, and Karen is already suspicious. How is he going to explain this one?

“Hey, Matt.”

She's cheerful, which is a nice change. He’s missed that, and while she keeps insisting that she’s fine, the perpetual unease in her voice is still there. He knows more than enough about hiding secrets not to press the issue, and so they keep dancing around it, shrouding themselves in the most masterful pretense.

It occurs to him that perhaps he doesn’t have to explain himself. _‘Don’t ask, don’t tell’_ has become a familiar and perfectly acceptable mantra at Nelson  & Murdock of late.

She comes over to the table. Her perfume is pleasant and just subtle enough not to overwhelm his senses. She lightly touches his shoulder and he gives her a smile.

“You smell nice,” he says, realizing that perhaps it’s a rather uncharacteristic thing for him to say.

“Thanks,” she responds cheerily, maybe a little self-consciously. He knows he made her smile, and that’s a good thing.

“I think we need a third chair,” she remarks.

Foggy gets a small stepladder from the storage closet. Matt’s apartment isn’t exactly made for family gatherings. He’s never really had a permanent fixture other than Foggy in his life, and up until now, he liked keeping it that way.

“Maybe we should _get_ you a third chair,” Foggy comments. Matt wisely leaves it at that.

They’re almost done with breakfast, keeping the banter light, when Karen broaches the subject. “So, twisted ankle, huh? Do I wanna know the story there?”

He closes his eyes behind his glasses—just briefly, and she won’t see it anyway. He and Foggy should have rehearsed a story. He tries to make a split second decision, and there’s the tiniest of epiphanies. If not lies, maybe at least he could keep it to half-truths.

“Random attack when I was out last night.” He gives his best attempt to make it sound casual.

“What do you mean, _attack_?”

“I’m not sure. It was unprovoked.”

“Were you mugged?”

“No. I think it may have been some kind of hate crime.”

“They attacked you because you’re blind?” she asks, stunned incredulity in her voice.

“Possibly. I don’t really know,” he evades.

“Wow. That’s just... all kinds of _wrong_.”

“That’s Hell’s Kitchen for you,” he shrugs.

“Did you involve the police? Can you identify them?”

He shakes his head. “No. No point, really.”

“Did you have your ankle checked out?”

“Yeah.” Another half-lie. “Nothing’s broken. Just a sprain. Some ligament damage. It’ll take a few days.”

Foggy mutters, “Weeks, more like.”

“Didn’t they give you crutches?” Karen asks.

Foggy shakes his head for him. “You know Matt. That damn stubborn hero complex. Plus, a little hard to do both crutches and the white cane.”

“Come on,” Matt protests. “It’s not that bad. I can still walk.”

“Hobble,” Foggy corrects. Then, as if he’s just remembered something, he says, “Oh. I picked something up for you. Hold on.”

Foggy goes to get something from his bag. Something plastic and light he doesn’t immediately recognize. His fingers tell him it’s an ankle cast, which Foggy confirms, “The [air cast](http://www.ambercity.com/air-cast-ankle-brace-training-adult-right-630-6825-0082.html) they recommended?”

“Oh yeah,” he quickly recovers, wondering where the hell Foggy got that from. He’ll have to ask him later.

All this subterfuge is making his head spin. Now that Foggy knows and Karen doesn’t—it makes things more complicated. He constantly needs to weigh the options of saying something out loud versus twisting it around in his head first before it comes out. It’s only a matter of time until one of them will slip up, and when they do, Karen is not going to let it slide. He’s already dreading the day.

Foggy and Karen are clearing away the dishes and cleaning up the table so that they can get to work. Foggy takes one of the armchairs, his laptop in his lap. Karen gets a pillow from the couch so Matt can put his leg up on the stepladder while the two of them set up shop at the table.

They’re working on a case—an actual criminal case. Granted, not a particularly exciting one, but it’s not pro bono or out of pure self-interest.

“Shouldn’t someone be at the office?” Matt asks after a while.

Karen tells him, “I forwarded the phone and put up a sign that says we’re out due to a family emergency. It has my cell phone number.”

Foggy pipes in from across the room, pointing at Karen. “See? That right there, that’s what I call ingenuity.”

“I call it quick thinking,” Matt says.

“Same difference.”

“And I actually have to leave,” Karen tells the two. “I just got an e-mail from the DMV about an inquiry I made for the case. I’m gonna go there, see what they’ve got. Hope you two make some more headway.” She's gathering up her things, her perfume following her like a shadow.

Once she's gone, and all he can smell is the remains of their breakfast, Matt looks over to Foggy. “You got me an air cast?”

“Oh, don’t act all self-deprecating. It’s mine, actually.”

“Huh, yeah,” Matt remembers as he straps it onto his injured ankle. “The Landman & Zack high rope course outing.”

“Don’t remind me,” Foggy sighs. “Not one of my more graceful moments.”

Matt grins while he adjusts the inflation of the air cast cushions. “No, definitely not.”

“Wait, you _saw_ that?”

“Saw is maybe too strong a word, but, yeah, ‘course I did.”

“Of course. And now I know why, against all the damned odds, you aced every one of the damn rope courses.”

Matt gives him a mock-apologetic shrug.

“Are we gonna tell Karen?” Foggy asks after a long moment.

“That I’m really good at high rope courses?”

“No. About the Daredevil thing!”

Matt shakes his head, all light-heartedness suddenly sucked out of the room. “Why would we want to do that?”

“Because she deserves to know! Have you listened to us lately? Whenever she’s around, things get, like, super awkward, because we don’t know what to say, or what _not_ to say. And you dragging your not-so-blind ass into the office with a new injury every week, how are you gonna keep explaining that? She’ll only buy the ‘clumsy blind guy’ story so many times.

“Also, do you know how weird it is that you’re blind, when you’re not, but pretend to be anyway? I feel like I’m in a really creepy soap opera where you’re a superhero in a horned mask who jumps from roof to roof at night and gives the bad guys what’s coming to them. Oh. Wait. You _actually_ do that.”

“Foggy, we’ve been over this.”

“No,” he slams his palm down on the armrest, “ _You’ve_ been pleading with me to keep lying for you, with those sad Jersey cow eyes, and _I’ve_... well, I’ve been playing along like the trusty lapdog that I am. I hate it, Matt. Don’t you get that?”

Quietly, he says, “Yes, I do.”

“But we can change that.”

“And then what? She’ll become a target, just like you are now.”

“Then why don’t we give her a choice?”

Matt snorts out a breath. “Oh yeah? How’s that gonna work?”

“I don’t know!” Foggy blurts out in frustration. “Tell her... tell her that there’s something we would trust her with, but it could put her in danger.”

“And she’s gonna say no to that?”

“Of course not!”

“Then how is that giving her a choice?”

“Don’t you think she can handle it?”

“That’s not the point,” Matt crosses his arms. “And you know the answer to that question.”

“You do realize that she’s got the hots for you, right?”

That stops any thought Matt ever had in its tracks. “Karen?”

Foggy shakes his head. “And here I thought those super senses of yours were totally failsafe.”

“ _Our_ Karen?” Matt repeats.

“How many Karens do you know? Yes, you nitwit! She steals glances at you whenever she can. Her face lights up when you enter the room. She always, _always_ calls you first with news on the case before she calls me. And she asked me to touch her face once because she wondered what it would be like for you. Although I probably shouldn’t have told you that.”

“Okay, that changes things.”

Foggy turns his palms skyward in a ‘Hallelujah’ gesture. “Finally.”

“No, not that. It means we definitely can’t tell her.”

“Are you serious?!”

“Very.”

“She’s gonna find out eventually. You know that, right?”

“Not if we’re careful. Promise me you’ll be careful, Foggy.”

“I can’t.”

“Please,” he pleads.

Foggy shakes his head. “I can’t,” he says again, in a lower voice. “But I’ll try.”

“Thank you,” Matt says gratefully.

Foggy puts his laptop on the couch table, going over to the kitchen to get a glass of water. Taking a sip, he points to the sliding bedroom door that still has a gaping hole in it. “Are you ever gonna get that fixed?”

“Well, I’ve been a little preoccupied.”

“You know, you still owe me the story of how that happened.”

“An altercation with Stick.”

“The _Kung Fu_ guy? He was here?”

“Yeah.”

“Care to elaborate?”

Matt lets out a frustrated breath. “No, I really don’t.”

“Not acceptable. I’m guessing the two of you had a bit of a kick-boxing, slash punching, slash mad fighting skills match. And I’m guessing that’s why you have that new coffee table, too.”

“Something like that.”

“So tell me again _why_ he would come here and attack you?”

“I wouldn’t call it attack.”

“Wait, _you_ provoked it?”

“No, not exactly. It’s—”

“If you say ‘complicated’, I will punch you.”

“Well, it _is_.”

“Is he going to come back?”

Matt shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“So the two of you have unfinished business?”

“Not as far as I’m concerned.”

“Geez, Murdock.” He makes an exasperated growling sound. “You’re the most frustrating blind vigilante friend ever! But I do think you should get that fixed. And those stairs. Talk about a safety hazard. That cousin of mine who does interior fitting? I can give him a call.”

“Yeah, you do that,” Matt says, mainly just so Foggy will get off his back. This used to be easier when there weren’t other people in the mix. Or best friends.

“One more thing,” Foggy says.

Matt groans inwardly. What now? He raises his eyebrows, waiting for the question.

“Hate crime. Did you make that up?”

He thinks for a regular guy, Foggy is actually pretty perceptive. They briefly talked about the attack on Matt during the cab ride last night, but didn’t go into much detail.

“That’s just the thing,” Matt says. “I’m pretty sure they were waiting for me, and the more I think about it, the more it makes sense. They definitely weren’t Fisk’s guys. Who else would actively seek me out? Unless someone was waiting to ambush me just to see if they could beat me.”

“Ambush? Did they set a trap, or something?”

Matt shakes his head. “Not that I’m aware of.”

“Then how would they know where you’d be? How predictable are your movements when you’re out there?”

“They’re not.”

Foggy seems baffled. “This is really weird, Matt. Cause... Daredevil bullies? I don’t know...”

“There was something one of the attackers said. ‘Not so badass now, huh, Daredevil?’ What do _you_ think that means?”

“Are you gonna do anything about it?”

“Like what? I have no idea who they are. It may just have been a one-time, random thing.”

Foggy lets out a long _pff_ sound. “This is getting way too weird. Like, David Lynch weird. Which will probably not mean anything to you. Unless your particle sensor thing works on movies.”

“No, it doesn’t work for anything two-dimensional.”

“Bummer. I had binge-watching plans for us. _Orange Is the New Black_ _._ ”

Matt smiles. “Like I can tell the difference. I'll pass.”

“Your loss, buddy.”

Matt doesn’t actually think so, but on occasion he will indulge Foggy’s more nerdy tendencies.

He shifts on the chair, feeling the urge to stretch his sore muscles, but also doesn’t really want to move, because he knows it’s going to hurt. Unfortunately, there are certain bodily needs that make themselves known, so he gets up with a groan, gingerly putting pressure on the now immobilized ankle to test the waters.

Foggy just watches in silence, probably with a worried frown on his face. From the way his breathing changes, he’s about to say something, but doesn’t. Matt doesn’t blame him. He has a right to be worried. He has a right to ask all his questions.

The truth is, he couldn’t wish for a better best friend. Their rough patch after Foggy found out… He hated the friction, the avoidance, the silences. He missed Foggy more than he’d missed anyone in his life. He thinks maybe he should tell Foggy that he’s glad they’ve moved past that, but he’s just— What the hell. He turns around to face his friend.

“Hey Foggy?”

“Yeah?”

What? What can he say? He’s not great with wearing his heart on his sleeve. He hesitates, then mumbles a weak, “Never mind.”

He thinks Foggy’s smiling. “You’re welcome,” he says to Matt. And that’s just how awesome a friend Foggy really is.

+-+-+-+-+

“ _New message from… Foggy_ ,” Matt’s smartphone reads out loud in a female voice whose pronunciation is just slightly off.

He tries to locate where it is from the sound alone; he must have left it in his jacket pocket. The trip to the corridor is still laborious, but nearly not as much as the day before, thanks to Foggy’s ankle brace. He will need to meditate again tonight because he’s antsy to be able to move properly, to go back out there.

He activates the phone screen and navigates to the texting app. “ _Messages. Foggy. Today, 10:24 am_ ,” the phone reads to him. “ _Dude, check your e-mail. Or call me. Or both. I found something_.”

It doesn’t sound like Foggy at all when it’s read out like that. Matt silently converts it in his head into his Foggy-voice, then goes to get his laptop. Foggy’s e-mail is just a link. He’s learned not to inundate his messages to Matt with unnecessary banter to make it easier for the screen reader.

When Matt clicks the URL, it takes him to a webpage that the screen reader can’t make a lot of sense of. There’s embedded images and menu buttons that aren’t labeled properly. Some text is read in fragments, but he gets the gist of it. An anti-Daredevil rallying group. There’s slogans against vigilante justice and incendiary appeals that what Daredevil’s doing is disgracing the reputation of Hell’s Kitchen and should be stopped.

So this is what the world is coming to. He can feel anger flaring up inside him. He’s doing this for Hell’s Kitchen, he’s going to the dark corners that the justice system can’t reach. It infuriates him to think that people can’t see that, that people even detest it.

He picks up his phone and dials Foggy’s number.

“Foggy,” he says when he answers. “Can you talk?”

“Hold on, give me a sec.” He hears Foggy closing a door, then he asks, “Did you see it?”

“Yeah. What I could, anyway.”

“So?”

“So, it’s… hard to believe.” His voice is strained, trying to keep the fury at bay.

“What are we gonna do about it?”

“We?”

“Yeah. I mean, there’s gotta be something we can do. As lawyers.”

Matt lets out a sarcastic sound. “What could we possibly do as lawyers?”

“File an injunction, for starters. Get the website to shut down.”

“On what grounds? ‘Nelson & Murdock, representing the Daredevil for slander.’ Yeah, that’s gonna go down well with the judge.”

“All right, Mr. Smartass, then what do _you_ propose we do? Let me guess. Go after them in the mask.”

“What good would shutting down the website do, Foggy? They’d find another way of getting their message heard.”

“Here’s a thought. If they’re getting organized, there’s gotta be some kind of meeting, right? Let’s go all _Fight Club_ on their ass and infiltrate their little get-together, see what we’re dealing with.”

Matt thinks that’s actually not a half bad idea. “Does the website mention a time and date?”

“No, so we’ll need to put some feelers out.”

“Yeah, let’s do that,” he agrees.

“Wait, you’re not thinking about going there yourself, are you?”

“Isn’t that the logical choice?”

“Oh no, no, no, no, no. That spells total disaster potential. It amazes me that you don’t even see that you’re the Tyler Durden in this scenario. I’m your single-serving friend, and I’m gonna find those man boobs for you. I’ll even unleash my best fake crying skills if necessary.”

Matt frowns. “I have no idea what you just said.”

“ _Fight Club_ , man. We watched it in college! Twice!”

Matt has a vague recollection, but he’s not great with movies or references to them. “The one with the soap?”

“Yes, the one with the soap. All I’m saying is that _I’m_ your logical choice.”

Matt is trying to warm to the idea. Maybe Foggy is right, him being there might not be the best strategic move. Not just for the fact that he’s Daredevil himself, but the limping blind man with the sunglasses would stick out like a sore thumb.

“Okay,” he reluctantly agrees. “But promise me you’ll be careful.”

“Have you ever known me to be anything less than careful?”

He has, but for once he knows better than to tell Foggy that.

+-+-+-+-+

It takes some stealthy and rather creative researching, but eventually Foggy finds his way into the secret online circle. Ironically, the rally meeting takes place in the basement rooms of a Lutheran church on the outskirts of Hell’s Kitchen. Foggy doesn’t hesitate to tell Matt he thinks it’s actually a genius disguise. Matt thinks it’s distasteful and a desecration.

“What should I wear?” Foggy asks him when they obtain the information they need.

“You’re not seriously asking me that, are you?”

“Yes, I’m actually _seriously_ asking you that. I don’t wanna stand out too much or anything. I mean, what the frig do you wear to a secret anti-Daredevil sleeper cell meeting?”

Matt doesn’t have the patience for this. “I don’t know, Foggy,” he says touchily. “Whatever you usually wear. Maybe not the Star Trek shirt.”

“Okay,” Foggy says, and he sounds slightly nervous. He gets up from his chair, pacing a few steps. Matt isn’t sure it’s a good sign that Foggy is this edgy.

“Relax, Foggy. Just… go there. Listen. Gather information. Get out. That’s it.”

“Yeah, easy for you to say.”

“If I remember correctly, you were the one who suggested to go there.”

“Yes. Remind me again _why_ I did that.”

“Something about Tyler Durden and single-serving friends?” Matt suggests.

“Seriously, _what_ was I thinking?!”

“Hey. You can do this. Just… think of it as a fact finding mission for a court case.”

“Okay,” Foggy says, repeating, “Okay. Cool. Yeah. I’ve got this.”

+-+-+-+-+

West 58th Street is one of the nicer areas of Hell’s Kitchen, but three nights later, the dark swallows too much of the street lights as Foggy and Matt make their way westward. The church isn’t far from here.

Matt, who’s in civilian clothes for this, stops in front of a fenced off wall that’s towered by buildings on either side. “This is my stop,” he tells Foggy.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Foggy asks.

“I need to know what’s going on in there.”

“It still blows my mind that you can listen in from, like, half a block away. Is this where you’re gonna be?” He swirls his index finger in the air to indicate their surroundings.

“This is my roof access,” Matt just says.

“Wait. Roof— What?”

“Best way to remain undetected. People never look up without a reason.”

Foggy shakes his head. “Dude, this is seriously messed up.”

“Relax, Foggy. I’ve done this before.”

“Not with a busted ankle, you haven’t.”

“I’m gonna be fine.”

“No heroics, okay?”

Matt nods. “No heroics.”

“Promise me.”

He smiles a small smile. “I promise.”

“I’m not scraping you off the sidewalk or some grimy rooftop.”

“Will you please just go. I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, all right,” Foggy agrees. “Let’s do this.”

Worry tugs at the edges of Matt’s conscience, but what choice does he have than to trust his friend? He listens to him walk away until he’s rounded the corner.

Matt finds his way to the fire escape via the first story balcony. The upward climb is more laborious than it should be, and even if he wanted to, heroics isn’t remotely within his capabilities tonight. He’s going to need to lay low and let this one play out.

Once he’s up on the roof, he finds himself crouching behind a ridge on the edge just across from the church. He closes his eyes and concentrates, trying to hone in on the meeting.

It takes him a while to locate what exactly he needs to focus his attention to, drowning out the noise from the streets and people in the building below him.

There’s at least fifty people in the basement room of the church. Jesus. A voice booms over a low murmur that quickly dies down when it starts speaking in a distinct baritone.

“Thank you all for coming tonight, especially those who are joining us for the first time. We assume you’ve all read our manifesto, so I’ll get straight to the point.

“Daredevil is still on the loose, and we cannot let things continue as they are. This has gone on long enough.”

There are murmurs of approval from the crowd, and he continues, “Our first strike didn’t go as planned, Daredevil is a lot more skilled than we thought. It seems we have underestimated him, so we need to take this to the next level.”

Matt wonders what that means. He wasn’t sure what to expect, but he had hoped this meeting would just be a haphazard group of paranoid wannabes. He realizes now that this is much bigger than he thought. This group could pose a real threat.

He tries to seek out Foggy in the crowd, but it’s difficult with all the ambient noise and so many people in close proximity to each other. He thinks he may have identified his heartbeat, but it’s faint and hard to tell. He moves on, concentrating back on the action.

A woman now takes the stage. “Like Zack said, we need to explore new avenues to stop Daredevil from further tarnishing the reputation of Hell’s Kitchen. It’s bad enough that he’s taken down Wilson Fisk, and more than ever, we need to rebuild what Fisk hast started. It has become obvious that brute force is not the way forward, so we’re going to have to be stronger and smarter. We’ll have to expose the man behind the mask. Beat him with his own devices.

“Wilson Fisk wanted to save this city, make it a better place. He may not always have used the right methods, but he had the right idea. It’s not right that good people like Fisk get locked behind bars, and Daredevil and his crude vigilante justice is hyped and glorified.

“We need to stop him, unmask him and expose him. The problem is that there doesn’t appear to be a pattern to where and when he’s going to strike, so it’s difficult for us to prepare. We were lucky to have caught him last time, but we need to be more methodical about it, so we’ve worked on a system that will consist of a network of volunteers, and for that we need your support.”

There’s more murmurs of acknowledgement from the crowd. Matt’s feeling of unease increases.

The woman goes on, “What we need is a kind of warning system that works in real time. We’ll need eyes and ears all over Hell’s Kitchen so that our strike team can be where it needs to be the next time he roams the streets. In order to do so, we’ve created a community alert system. All you need to do is anonymously report any sightings as they happen. We’ll be closely monitoring that and then make our move.

“There’s flyers with all the information you need on the tables, so please take one and join our network. Every single one of you will be valuable to the success of our mission, so let’s go get Daredevil and make Hell’s Kitchen the reputable neighborhood it used to be! What do you say? Are you with us?”

Matt hears the sounds of whoops and cheers, some people even clap. He feels sick to his stomach as he tries to pick up some of the conversations that are now going on simultaneously. Like a homing beacon, he hears Foggy’s voice in the melee. “Excuse me,” he says. Could be he stepped on someone’s toes.

A man’s voice says, “Oh, hey. I’m Spencer. Finally someone’s doing something against this guy, huh? About time.”

Matt can’t help but ball his fists at his side. He wishes Foggy would punch the guy in the face. Hard. It takes every ounce of his self-restraint to unclench his hands and keep listening.

Foggy’s voice sounds strained, and he hopes Spencer doesn’t notice that it’s all a show. “Yeah, I’m totally with you on that.”

“Okay, cool,” Spencer responds, turning his attention elsewhere. Matt tries to follow Foggy, and he realizes that he is on the way out of the building. He scrambles to his feet with a subdued groan. Time to get back to street level.

He meets Foggy near the next corner, and he jumps as Matt steps out of the shadows.

“Jesus, Matt,” he hisses.

“Sorry,” Matt apologizes, at the same time ushering Foggy to start walking back to his apartment.

“How much did you hear? Did you get all of that?”

“Yeah, I got most of it.”

He can tell Foggy is upset, and not just by his voice. “This is bad. Like, fucked-up über-bad.”

“Yeah, no kidding.”

“Matt,” Foggy stops. “What are we gonna do?”

Matt keeps moving. “Let’s go back to my place first, then we’ll discuss it.”

+-+-+-+-+

Foggy is pacing again, his breath coming out in an unsteady staccato rhythm, the way it always does when he’s distressed. He comes back to the table and slams a piece of paper down in front of Matt so hard that Matt flinches in his chair.

“It’s a good thing you can’t read this shit!”

“Foggy...”

“No, don’t you ‘Foggy’ me! You weren’t there, you didn’t see what was going on in there. One minute longer, and I would have slugged someone so hard they wouldn’t know tomorrow from yesterday.”

Calming's not helping, so Matt tries redirection, because Foggy isn't the only best friend in the room who pays attention. Matt knows what works. “Well, where did these guys even come from? How long have they been doing this?”

Foggy doesn’t stop the pacing. “How would I know? I don’t exactly follow the Daredevil hater community, you know,” he spits.

Matt sighs. “You know I didn’t mean it like that. It just makes you wonder how long they’ve been established. What are their motives? How big a threat are they?

“Judging from their first attack, they don’t appear to be highly trained, but it could also be because they’re newly formed and not as effective yet. Is there anything in the flyers that helps us? What do they look like? Are they professionally printed?”

Foggy bends down and picks the flyer up, probably to study it more closely. “They look home-made, but not amateurish. Something someone with decent computer skills could have put together.”

“What else?”

“I don’t know. Nothing much. There’s a URL. So, hey, we should really join whatever this is, report a few fake sightings. Throw them off the scent.”

“Actually...”

“Oh, no.” Foggy drops the flyer. “Don't say that. It’s never a good thing when you start a sentence like that.”

“We could use this to our advantage, turn the whole thing around, set up a trap for them rather than for me. We can plant a trail, so... so that they’ll never know Daredevil will be lying in wait for them.”

“Didn’t you hear? They have a whole frickin’ strike team. That's some _Zero Dark Thirty_ shit. You’re just one man, Matt! What could you possibly do against that? And don’t tell me you’ve handled worse.”

“I have.”

“Screw you. They’re coming prepared. They have a plan. They’re not just a gang of random thugs you’re going to jump at out of the blue. God,” he says in exasperated irritation, “I wish you would take this seriously.”

“I _am_ taking this seriously.”

“Oh yeah? Doesn’t look like that to me. Cause from where I’m standing, it looks more like suicide.”

Matt lets out an actual laugh as he shakes his head. “I think you’re blowing this a little out of proportion.”

“Jesus Christ, Matt. Your life may be on the line. How is it you don’t see that?”

“Foggy, these guys were amateurs at best. A group of three who tried to corner me and throw a few punches. There’s...” he lets out another amused chuckle, “There are enemies I’ve faced that these guys couldn’t hold a candle to if they tried. This would seem just as laughable to you if you knew the kind of threats I’ve been up against in the past...”

Foggy’s voice is like acid. “Yeah, and you know what? I _don’t_ know.” His words are accusing, bitter. “Because how could I? You never talk to me about it. You never have, not in all these years. You still don’t.”

All amusement is suddenly gone from Matt’s voice. “Foggy…”

“You know what? If you’re gonna apologize again, don’t bother.”

Foggy hovers there, unsurely, and Matt can hear the changes in his breathing—loud and dangerous. Rattling like the echo of a coffee table being broken. He stands there, and Matt sits, neither of them saying anything for a few long seconds.

Matt hears Foggy’s heart hammering angrily in his chest, and he knows—he just _knows_ that Foggy is going to walk out on him again if he lets him. Right now.

Not this time.

He gets up from the table. This is too important. He can’t lose his friend again. He puts himself in Foggy’s way and takes him by the upper arms.

“Please, Foggy,” he says, and it sounds a lot more desperate than he wants it to.

Foggy half-hisses, tries to worm his way out of Matt’s grip. “You’re hurting me.”

He didn’t realize he’d been squeezing so hard and immediately lets go, and all his energy just... drains away. His arms hang limply by his sides. Foggy is his best friend, but Matt just doesn’t know how to make him understand.

That night they fought after the fight with Nobu, it destroyed something between them, something he’s been trying to rebuild ever since. They’re on shaky ground as it is, and they’re at another crossroad. This is Foggy—trusting, caring, I’ll-always-be-here-for-you-buddy Foggy. Soft and gentle and not meant for pain, either given or received. Matt doesn’t want to keep hurting him, but he is. Mentally, physically.

And he just doesn't know how to stop. He can't figure out what he's doing wrong.

                                                                     

Both men stand still, the moments ticking by. Matt lets his head hang, and stops fighting the emotion that ripples across his face. “I... Foggy, I need you,” he says just above a whisper. “I don’t wanna—”

He stops there, can’t admit it out loud that he doesn’t want a life without Foggy in it. He stumbles back a step, almost tripping. His footing is still unsure and he braces himself against the wall.

“Matt,” Foggy says, his voice shaky. “You gotta let me in. You _gotta_ let me help.”

“I know. But I don’t know how. It’s always just been me.”

“Yeah,” Foggy says in a low voice. “I know. And that makes it even worse.”

“Tell me what it is you want to know, what it is you need.”

Foggy lets out a shaky chuckle. Matt's heart leaps. “Ha, that’s quite a substantial list. But first, I think we both need this.” Foggy steps closer to Matt, and it’s a little odd and unexpected, because they’ve never been the touchy-feely types, but Foggy draws him into a hug.

“We’re gonna figure this out,” he says. He's warm. Or that’s just his voice.

Matt doesn’t know what to do with all of it, and he stands stiffly, lost, but when Foggy starts giving him a good-natured pat on the back and squeezes a little harder, Matt returns the gesture. It feels both welcome and unwelcome, and Matt doesn’t know whether to stay or run.

Foggy moves for him, taking the option away, pulling back and harrumphing softly, putting some space between them to dispel the awkwardness. His voice is uncharacteristically grave as he says, “You know, this might sound corny, but I need you too, buddy. And I especially need you _not_ to be deliberately suicidal.”

“I’m not. I’m not suicidal.”

“But you’re being reckless, and right now, that’s the same thing. These guys may not seem like much of a threat, but they’re getting more and more organized, and that cannot be a good thing. I mean, I get it that you think you’re fearless and invincible when you put on that mask. Wait, no, I actually don’t get it. Okay, maybe part of me gets it. Anyway. Tell me I’m wrong.”

“You’re wrong,” Matt says as he goes back to the table to sit down.

“Shut up. Wait, don’t shut up. Explain to me why you think you can single-handedly take on an army of organized Daredevil haters and come out on top.”

“Because I have something they don’t.”

“You mean the sixth sense thing, right? And what if _they_ have something _you_ don’t? Like big ass guns that’ll blast a hole right through your fancy new suit and take your sixth sense and your life right along with it. I’ve seen you half dead, Murdock. I don’t _ever_ wanna go there again.”

Matt shakes his head slightly, because he just doesn’t really see how Foggy keeps leaping from ‘we need to unmask Daredevil’ to ‘we need to assassinate the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen’. “Think about it, Foggy. They want to expose me, isn’t that what they said? I don’t think they want to kill me.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I can’t.”

“And that right there, that’s the gray zone that we’re dancing around. I've got two left feet. There’s a real chance you’re gonna get seriously hurt in this, or worse, and you’re just so hell-bent on—no pun intended—blindly running right in and taking that chance.”

Matt sighs, because it’s like they’re back to square one. “Okay,” he acquiesces. “For the sake of argument, let’s say we play this safe. How would we be doing that?”

“Yeah,” Foggy says in a resigned tone. “That’s the part that I’m still trying to figure out.”

+-+-+-+-+

“Wait, you’re in regular communication with Daredevil?” Karen asks, astounded. “Can I meet him?”

“You _already_ met him,” Matt supplies.

“Come on, you know what I mean.”

“Well, it’s not like we have him on speed dial,” Foggy says. Which is actually not exactly true, but they’ve become too good at bending the truth.

They’re at the office, late morning, gathered around the meeting room desk—if you can even call it that. Matt and Foggy decided they needed a set of fresh eyes on this. To let Karen in on finding a lawful way to take action against the group of Daredevil hatemongers, they meticulously built a story with enough truth to it to be believable.

She looks at Matt, then at Foggy. “So how does it work? He comes to you for help?”

Foggy’s gaze seeks out his friend. They’re treading dangerous ground now. The kind that keeps getting too slippery to keep their footing on. Matt presses his lips together before he says, “He knows we’re supporting his cause. It’s more of a one-hand-washes-the-other kind of thing.”

“And he’s asked you to help with these… retributionists?”

“Is that what they call them now?” Matt asks.

“No, that’s what _I_ call them. You know what the problem with most cults is? Often it’s more the peer pressure than the conviction that gets the followers to join a group. It’s the social acceptance, not the cause they’re looking for.”

“What, are you studying psychology now?” Foggy quips.

“No, but I’ve read… never mind, that’s not important. Just bear with me, okay? If we want to approach this the smart way, we need to focus on education first. A lot of these people might not even really know who or what they’re antagonizing. They’re just going off of things they’ve read in some sleazy tabloid. If we showed them all the good things that Daredevil has done, I’m sure quite a few would change their mind.”

“And how do you propose we do that?” asks Foggy. “Write a Daredevil biography?”

“No,” she says impatiently. “Geez. Why are you being so negative?”

“Me?” Foggy raises his arms. “ _I’m_ being negative?”

Matt cuts in, “You are. A little.”

“Thanks for the support.”

“Hey." Karen snaps her fingers, gets them to focus again. “Cut it out. Listen. There are ways we can do this. We just need the right outlet... God, I wish Ben was still here. He would know how to approach this.”

It’s Foggy who picks up on her suggestion. “If not Ben, there must be another journalist out there who’d be willing to print a story. I mean, think about it. Wouldn’t you want to be the first reporter to get an interview with the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen?”

“Daredevil,” Matt corrects.

“I can already see the headline. ’Daredevil Exclusive — What you always wanted to know about the man who selflessly protects the Clinton neighborhood’.”

A small grin flashes across Matt’s face before he manages to hide it again.

Karen doesn’t seem to have noticed as she continues, “Okay, so I guess there’s two things we need to do next. First, find a reporter who’d be willing to run the story, and whom we can trust. Second, and this is probably the more difficult part, find Daredevil and get him to do his part.”

Foggy and Matt exchange a knowing look. Foggy asks Matt, “Do you think he would?”

Matt shrugs. “Worth a try.”

“Okay,” Karen says cheerily. “Let’s go find ourselves our next client, so to speak.”

“Not sure client is the right word,” Matt says. “Let’s call it a mission.”

“Double-oh Foggy and his team of fearless sidekicks to the rescue.”

“Since when have I been downgraded to sidekick?” Matt teases.

“You’re blind.”

“Yes, and how much cooler would it be if I was the blind superhero in this story?” Matt thinks the innuendo is going to kill him.

“All right,” Foggy agrees. “Double-oh Murdock and super awesome lawyer firm sidekicks save the day.”

“Shocking,” Matt imitates Sean Connery. “Positively shocking.”

It’s a nice sound to hear—the office filled with laughter again.

+-+-+-+-+

Three days later, Matt stands near the corner of his roof, listening to the city. The mask is in his hand, he needs to hear and feel Hell’s Kitchen to its full extent on this cloudless night. It’s the first time he’s out here since the Retributionist attack, his body recuperated enough to tackle the underbelly of the city.

It feels good to be able to protect his neighborhood again, he can’t deny that. He told Foggy that the city needs him in that mask, and he wasn’t lying. Not that time.

He tries to eliminate the distractions to focus on what’s important. There’s a heated argument in the nearby bodega, but it’s harmless enough. A child wails in a bedroom on the next block. Shushing sounds from the mother and a crackle from a baby monitor tells him it’s nothing to worry about.

He cocks his head to the right. There’s… something. Sounds of someone in distress faintly scrape at the fringes of his perception. He concentrates, but it’s too far away. There’s several male voices, and a woman’s. He puts on the mask, taking off in the general direction the sounds are coming from.

He’s more vigilant than usual, because who knows if the secret network is already up and running. He hopes it isn’t. Or that he’s stealthy enough to slip through the cracks.

As he gets closer to whatever scene he’s vaguely witnessed, it’s becoming increasingly clear he’s bearing witness to an assault of some kind. Three men are cornering a woman. The sounds are muffled, like she’s enclosed by concrete. Her protests and kicking go unheeded. There’s cocky gloating and too much alcohol and testosterone.

He reaches the edges of Hell’s Kitchen by zig-zagging across the rooftops and back streets he knows so well. He’s nearing the water’s edge, it smells of fish and exhaust fumes. Water laps against the shore not far away, a distant mumble. The Joe DiMaggio Highway starts here, and the sounds take him to a closed-off area under the highway bridge.

Matt navigates around the construction equipment and metal structures, tries to scout the space to decide on his best approach. The woman is sitting on the ground with her hands tied to the pole of a metal fence, three men crowding into her space.

He moves quietly until the last moment when he reveals himself. The men are too stunned to act at first. He drags one away from the woman, punching him squarely in the face. The other two back off, and he corners them, grabbing the one who seems to be in charge by the throat, pinning him against a steel pillar.

In a low, menacing voice, he growls, “You have five seconds to get out of here before I start doing things to you that you’ll very much regret. Do you understand?”

The guy only nods in intimidated silence. Matt lets go of him and steps back. “Leave. Now.”

As the men scamper hastily away; Matt turns his attention to the woman. “Are you okay?”

She recoils as he gets closer, despite her being tied up. Matt stops where he stands. “It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you.”

There’s something about the way she shrinks back like she wants to crawl into the fence behind her that seems familiar to Matt, but he can’t quite place what exactly it is. What he does gauge from her reaction is that, clearly, she’s afraid of him. From his vague image of her, he estimates she’s seventeen or eighteen. Twenty at most.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” he tries again. “I’m here to help you.”

Her voice is meek, shaking. “Who are you?”

He frowns underneath his mask. The Daredevil suit and mask should be a dead giveaway. Are there still people in New York who haven’t heard of him? So what’s he going to say? He can’t expose himself. “My name isn’t important.”

He tentatively draws nearer and moves next to her, explaining, “I’m going to untie you, okay?”

“Okay,” she replied feebly, and he gets to work on the zip-ties.

She slowly pushes herself up after he cuts her free, her hands feeling the chain-link fence in a manner he can’t quite place, her head cocked as if she’s trying to pick up certain sounds. He knows these patterns all too well, and suddenly he realizes why they seem so familiar.

“You’re blind,” he says.

“Yes,” she confirms.

That explains why she didn’t recognize him. He tries to read her, gauge the situation. Her heartbeat has slowed down slightly, but he’s not sure if she’s unharmed. He can’t smell any blood, which is a good sign. “These men, did they hurt you?”

Her voice is shaky. “No. I think they were going to, but they didn’t get… Oh God.”

He keeps his voice gentle. “It’s okay. They won’t hurt you anymore. Do you need medical attention?”

“No, no hospital. Please.”

He knows that notion all too well. “Can you walk?”

“I think so,” she says, her voice still shaking.

“If you hold out your hand, I’ll lead you out of here.”

She hesitates for a long moment, then her right arm reaches out, and he takes it with his gloved hand to help her. If Foggy were here, he would most certainly make a quip about the irony of the blind literally leading the blind.

They take a few tentative steps, and he can feel her fingertips brushing softly along the fabric of his suit as he guides her.

“You’re the Daredevil.” It’s not exactly a question.

“Yes,” he confirms, and when he does, she stops in her tracks.

“No. This is all wrong. You’re not supposed to be doing this.”

“Doing what?”

“Helping people. Helping _me_.”

“I’m not sure what you know about me, but I think you may be wrong about whatever it is that you’ve heard. You don’t have to be afraid of me. People like you are exactly what I’m doing this for.”

“Why?”

“Because someone has to do it.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“What’s your name?” he asks her, trying to change the subject.

“Kiera,” she tells him reluctantly.

“Kiera, listen to me. Do you trust me enough to get you to safety?”

She hesitates, then nods. “Yes.”

Matt finds the way to the edge of the bridge without too much difficulty, and he wonders if she’s noticed that where his eyesight is concerned, he’s just as blind as she is. Mostly.

He stays in the shadows and turns to her. “We’re out by the pier, do you want me to call anyone? Are you sure you don’t want to go to a hospital?”

“No, no hospital. Nothing even really happened.”

He thinks it was enough. More than enough.

“They took my purse. Do you have a phone? I… I wanna call my dad.”

“Yes,” he says. He feels for his burner phone in his pants pocket, knowing he’ll have to get rid of it afterwards if he lets a stranger use it. “It’s a cheap one with actual keys. Do you want to do it yourself, or do you want me to dial?”

She lifts her head in his direction like she’s trying to figure out how it is that he’s asking the exact right questions.

“If you pull up the phone screen, I can do it myself.”

He does and hands her the phone. It takes a few beats after she dials a number, then someone answers. “Dad?” Kiera says. “Can you come pick me up?”

“Now? It’s the middle of the night,” a gruff, sleep-laden voice says.

Matt frowns just briefly. That voice at the other end sounded vaguely familiar. He feels like a voyeur, listening in, but can’t help himself.

“Please, Dad,” Kiera pleads into the phone, her voice about to crack.

“Kiera, is everything all right?”

“No. I’m... Something happened, and I... Just come get me, okay?”

“Where are you?”

She looks at Matt, and he tells her their location, which she gives to her father. Then she hangs up, her hands shaking as she gives Matt his phone back.

“My dad’s coming to pick me up.”

“I’ll wait here with you.”

She wraps her arms around her torso, but she stays in close proximity. “Why are you doing this?”

“Is that important?”

“It is to me. You’re different than...” she trails off.

“Than what?”

“Than the stories.”

“Stories?”

“Yeah. My dad talks about the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen all the time. How he brings shame to our city, how his ways are unlawful and wrong, how he preys on people without good cause. But that’s not who you really are, is it?”

He isn’t sure what to say to that, so he asks the more pressing question. “Kiera, were you kidnapped?”

She wrings her hands. “I… I don’t know. They snatched me, took me here. I don’t… I don’t think they… I mean, we don’t have any money. I don’t know why they picked me. Maybe because I’m blind.”

“Do you know who these men were? Have you met them before? Anything you remember that you can identify them by? Because if you do, there are ways to bring them to justice. Not the way I do. Put them in jail. There are people who can help you with that, but you’ll have to go to the police.”

“No. Not after what happened with that Fisk guy. The police can’t be trusted.”

“That’s over. Fisk is behind bars, things have changed.”

“How do you know?”

How _does_ he know? Of course he can’t exactly tell her that. “Just trust me.”

She hesitates, studies him. “You know, for some twisted, unexplainable reason, I’m actually starting to.”

He smiles to himself. That’s a small victory, at least.

Matt hears a car slowly approaching, and a number of moments later, Kiera hears it too. “This is where we need to part ways,” Matt says.

She turns to him. “Thank you. No matter what my dad says, the city needs more people like you.”

Matt stays quiet and slinks deeper into the shadows, already looking for an escape route. From there, he witnesses as the cab stops near Kiera and her father gets out to come to her assistance. Then they get into the car, the doors close behind them. Matt tries to follow her conversation with her father, but the voices are hushed, muffled by the car’s insulation and hard to make out over the car’s engine.

He pushes himself up and tries to ignore the cold that has aggravated the residual aches and pains that linger in his body. It’s quiet save for the Hudson’s ripples whispering against the pier nearby. He cocks his head and listens. His mental sweep of Hell’s Kitchen tells him that at 2 AM, Midtown finally sleeps.

+-+-+-+-+

The annoying voice from his talking alarm clock wakes him too early the next morning. He’s tired and sluggish, eyelids gritty from too little sleep. He gets to the office late, shuffling his feet more than usual. His routine is out of sync—he needs to start training again.

He senses Karen’s head perking up as he enters. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he greets back as he places his cane in its usual spot by the door.

“Aha. The prodigal son returns,” Foggy greets him through the open door of his office.

He goes into his own, where Karen finds her way a few minutes later with a mug of coffee in her hands. There’s already milk in it, and he smiles gratefully.

“Thank you, Karen.”

They have a routine, a shorthand now. This is comfortable, and the way it’s supposed to be. He’s glad he isn’t working at Landman & Zack anymore.

She stands across from him on other side of the desk, her voice upbeat. “We had a breakthrough with the Hobson case.”

It’s the one they’ve been working on, which he hasn’t given much thought in the last few days. “How so?”

“Foggy dug around and found a precedent we can use. There’s a really good chance for a decent settlement offer.”

“Good,” he comments.

Foggy calls from across his office, “Get your ass in here, Murdock. We need to talk.”

Matt sighs but obeys. Foggy looks up as he enters his office. “Heh. You look like crap. Late night?”

“Yeah,” Matt just says. He hopes Foggy will leave it at _no-questions-asked_.

Of course not. “Anything I should know about?”

“No,” he says at first, then changes his mind. “Well, maybe... yeah, there’s something. Kidnapping and attempted physical assault. A blind girl named Kiera. If she goes to the police, they'll press charges. I'm going to put some...” he stumbles, finds the word Foggy used, “uh, feelers out. I’d like to make sure there aren't any screw-ups that could get these guys off. Maybe we can sue them after the criminal trial.”

“You’re going around, doing client acquisition in the dark corners of the underworld now?”

“No, it, uh, wasn’t exactly like that.”

“Blind girl, you say? Did you talk to her? What if she recognizes your voice?”

“A blind guy in a three-employee second-rate law firm in New York City? Making that connection would be a considerable leap of faith, even for someone who can’t see.”

“Mark my words, Murdock, one of these days, someone will. You have a very distinctive jaw line.”

He shrugs off the remark. He’ll deal with it when it happens. “Speaking of last night… Had to get a new burner.” He hands Foggy a note with what he hopes is a halfway legible number.

There’s a telling little snort from Foggy as he wordlessly takes the note. The rustle of paper suggests he's pocketing it.

Matt gives him a hint of a smile. “So, what is it you wanted to talk to me about?”

“Oh. Yeah. The Hobsons. Karen and I found something that could help us. I want your take on it.”

He nods and draws up a chair from the corner. “I’m all ears.”

“Yeah, and no eyes.”

Matt groans inwardly, because Foggy’s sense of humor isn’t always all that hilarious.

+-+-+-+-+

It’s a day later that Brett gives Matt a call. “I don’t know how you got involved in this, and frankly I don’t _wanna_ know, but your blind girl with the physical assault? She came in today. We’re looking for the perps now. You owe me, Murdock. Don’t expect any further updates.”

Matt smiles. He’ll have to put Foggy on cigar duty. Maybe a good bottle of wine to go with it.

The police seem to be taking their sweet time with identifying the culprits, seeing how they don’t have a good physical description to work with, so Matt eavesdrops on them when he goes out at night and Hell’s Kitchen is otherwise quiet. He figures he needs to do some investigating on his own to help with the slow police procedurals. Quite frankly, he doesn’t like to think of it as stalking, there is no malicious intent. Just sheer curiosity, and maybe a bit of self-interest.

What he finds out is that Zack’s a single father, and Kiera’s a smart, determined woman. There are conversations around her independence, and disagreements about where she should be going to business school, because Zack would like her to keep close by, but Kiera doesn’t like the prospect of going to Columbia.

It makes Matt wonder if his father would have approved of Matt’s educational choices. Of his life choices, even. He’d like to think he would, although sometimes he isn’t sure. But this just feels right, and maybe it’s just irrevocably predetermined in his genetic makeup that he needs to keep using his fists despite his father wishing otherwise.

And then, the next night, with Matt crouched on a nearby rooftop, the picture changes. Kiera is out with friends, and there’s a knock on Zack’s door. Three men force their way inside when Zack opens. There are harsh words, blows, threats. Matt starts running.

He gets there just as one of the men is pushing a gun in Zack’s face. He takes a few seconds to get a sense of what he’s up against. Zack’s apartment is small, and the men are smart and agile. Each of them has a gun, and bullets aren’t something to be trifled with in confined spaces.

Matt jumps in through the window, startling both men, and quickly disarms the one threatening Zack with a quick elbow to the chin. A bullet from the other man’s gun comes flying as the guy goes down, and Matt is fast, but not fast enough. The bullet nicks his arm, but he pushes on, plowing shoulder-first into the man’s midriff.

A satisfying huff of expelled air accompanies the impact, and they tumble to the floor. Matt lands three good punches to the guy’s face.

Despite this being a relatively easy fight, Matt’s out of breath by the time both goons lie unconscious on the floor. He locates Zack cowered against the wall to avoid the melee, who is now slowly getting up.

“You,” Zack says. “You saved me.”

“Yes,” Matt states, catching his breath. “That’s what I do.”

“Why?”

“Because you were in danger.”

“That’s it? It’s as simple as that?”

“Yes. And because Kiera needs you.”

That stops Zack cold, Matt can hear his heartbeat speeding up. He gestures at the unconscious heaps on the floor. “These men, why were they after you?”

Zack takes a step forward. “What’s it to you?”

“I need to know if they’re going to come back, threaten you again.”

“Why? Why do you care?”

Matt wants to roll his eyes. Geez, why can’t people just be grateful for a change? He saved the guy’s life, for goodness’ sake. “Look, do you want me to help you, or not? Because from what I could see, and I mean no disrespect when I say this, you didn’t exactly seem to have the upper hand in whatever this was.”

“Yeah, maybe I’m in a little over my head with this one,” Zack admits.

“Are they the same people who assaulted Kiera?”

Zack shrugs. “I’m not sure. Probably.”

“It’s important. You want them prosecuted if they are, trust me. The police need to be involved to make that happen. I can help you, but you have to let me.”

Zack hesitates, then seems to waver. “Yes, they’re the same people. I swear I’m not a criminal. I needed money, for Kiera’s education. She’s going to college soon, and I don’t have enough for some fancy school. I signed up for an online program where they promised significant profits. The whole thing seemed legit. A little too good to be true, maybe. Turned out it was, because then the demands started, and when I couldn’t deliver, they started threatening me.”

“Are you willing to testify against them in court?”

Zack nods cautiously, then more confidently. “Yes, if that gets them locked up and me my money back.”

“Okay. Let me make a phone call.”

Matt calls Brett from his burner, who thankfully is on duty that night. Brett has learned to trust Daredevil. By now they have a certain arrangement, and Brett is always eager to bring in more criminals of the shady kind. It’s a rare occurrence that Daredevil delivers him anyone who doesn’t end up behind bars in one way or another.

He goes back to where Zack is pacing the living room after he hangs up. “The police are on their way. I can’t stay, obviously. You can tell them what happened. Tell them everything.”

Matt hovers nervously near the window, waiting, with Zack still jittery and anxious. Something keeps nagging at the back of his mind, and it hits him when Zack asks him another question. The voice is so familiar, he sounds like the Retributionist leader. Matt can’t be sure, but he’s almost as good at telling voices apart as sighted people faces. He can’t believe he hasn’t noticed until now.

He still contemplates the fact when the police arrive a few minutes later. Matt hears them approach long before they enter the building. When he’s reasonably sure that they’re close enough, he bids his goodbye without much ado and leaves the way he came.

+-+-+-+-+

It’s two days later that Foggy comes into Matt’s office, closing the door behind him. “Did you see that the Retributionist website was updated?”

Matt looks up from his paperwork. “No. What’s it say?”

Foggy sounds slightly confused. “They took down all the lurid statements, there’s a new meeting tomorrow night. Something must have happened.”

Matt gives Foggy a thoughtful expression. “You know, I have a theory, actually.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ve been meaning to tell you.” He recounts the whole thing—his recent adventure as Daredevil. “It may have just been a hunch before, but now it’s more than that, Foggy. Zack is the Retributionist leader.”

“Are you sure?” Foggy asks him.

“It makes sense, doesn’t it?”

Foggy rubs his chin. “Hate to admit it, but, yeah, it kinda does. So, uh, what are we gonna do about that meeting? If you go, this dude might recognize your voice, and I’m seriously gonna punch someone if I go there again. I don’t know if I can do this a second time.”

“You don’t have to. We can do it my way.”

“You mean your super hearing thing? You know, if you had x-ray vision too, that’d be really useful.”

Matt lets a small grin flit across his face. “I’m sure it would. But I still don't have it.”

“Bummer.” Foggy sighs, and thinks for a moment. “Again, stumped. So maybe the audio spying is the next best thing. Do you want me to be there for that?”

“Up fire ladders across the rooftops of Hell’s Kitchen?”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence in my athletic skills, but yeah, okay, you’ve got a point.”

There’s a knock on the door, then Karen peeks her head in. “Am I interrupting anything?”

Matt beckons her in. “No, not really. What is it?”

She hands Foggy a small piece of paper. “The DA’s office just called, it sounded important. One of you should probably call them back.”

“Thanks, Karen,” Matt tells her.

She hesitates in the door. “Is there any news about the Retributionists? Are we getting anywhere with that press contact? Have you had any more contact with Daredevil?”

Foggy opens his mouth to say something, but Matt jumps in instead. “It’s being handled. I have a feeling they’re not going to be a problem any longer.”

She looks first at Matt, then at Foggy. “You know that I hate it when you guys keep things from me, right?”

Foggy sighs. “We know. Just trust us on this one, okay?”

“Fine,” she says with a level of residual hesitation. “Just… let me know if I can help.”

“We will,” Matt tells her, and somehow she seems to accept that. Matt wonders if maybe that’s because she is indeed a little too infatuated with him. He also wonders if he’d rather un-know that information, because it seems to make everything more complicated between them.

+-+-+-+-+

Just Matt’s luck that it’s raining the night of the Retributionists meeting. Rain is a distraction, even just the steady drizzle that’s shrouding New York in a curtain of hazy droplets. Drips of water falling off of overhangs, water cascading down the rain gutter downspouts, people’s feet making splashing noises on the sidewalks. The smell of trash is multiplied by the damp. It all adds to the disruption.

It has Matt hovering closer to the church than he wants to, because it’s more exposed here. Less dark corners, fewer opportunities to hide. And now he’s late, because of his weather-induced relocation.

He hears Zack’s voice when he finally finds a suitable vantage point. His voice is assertive, confident. “—might be quite a surprising turn of events for all of you. I’ve decided to step down from being the leader of this group because of the things I’ve seen, the things I’ve experienced. I suppose you could say I’ve had a change to heart, and that has to mean a lot, coming from me.

“And that’s why I hope I can convince you to stop what we’ve started. I believe now that we’ve had a wrong impression of who Daredevil really is, what he does, and why he does it. He’s out there, saving lives every day. Just like mine, it could be yours someday... or your children’s or your friends’.

“I know that some of you won’t change your minds so easily, but I can very much state for a fact that if Daredevil hadn’t come to my rescue that night, I would not be standing here right now. I would be dead, and my daughter would be left an orphan.

“And not only that. My daughter herself was attacked not too long ago, and Daredevil himself saved her. He saved her life, and now that’s twice he’s come to my family’s rescue. That has to mean something.”

There are murmurs in the room, but Matt has a hard time focusing on specific things being said. Zack raises his voice against the din. “The group leaders have discussed this in the last few days, and we have unanimously decided to dismantle this group for the time being. There will be no more meetings and no more activities against Daredevil.

“Some of you might not be willing to accept this so readily, but you will have no website, no computer support, no one organizing further activities, membership, or meeting space. No one from the top is funding any of this anymore. Now, obviously we can’t stop each and every one of you, but we’d like you all to consider the information you’ve heard tonight and follow our lead. Thank you all.”

That ends his speech, and the hum of different voices in the room increases in volume to a level where Matt can’t follow any particular conversation. The mood seems to swing from surprised to annoyed to outright indignant. Fragments of sentences show revolt and disagreement, some curiosity, others confusion.

He keeps listening, trying to pick out anything that will give him an idea of what’s going to happen now. But soon, the melee dies down as the group scatters. Matt doesn’t hear anything that spells true cause for concern.

Foggy is waiting for Matt in his apartment. The tone of his voice is giving the impression of his usual raised eyebrow that undoubtedly goes along with an unspoken, snarky comment about the suit and the horns. Despite the silence, Matt can hear Foggy’s voice in his head—one of the many variations of, “You know how ridiculous you look in that thing, right?”

As Matt changes into something more comfortable (and a lot drier), he recounts the events he witnessed. When he’s finished, Foggy remarks, “So that’s good, right?”

Matt nods. “Yeah, I’d say it’s very good.”

“And who’s to say that these people won’t reorganize?”

“Obviously there’s no guarantees, but we cut off the head of the snake. It takes effort and money and resources to regroup. I didn’t get the sense that whoever is left now is going to stand up and make that effort. I think we’re in the clear.”

Foggy lets out a relieved breath. “Okay. That’s one problem out of the way. Daredevil saves the day. You’re a regular hero, buddy. Really are.”

Matt doesn’t feel like a hero. He never wanted the fame. He sighs. “You know that’s not why I do any of this.”

“Come on,” Foggy says good-naturedly. “Bask in the glory for once. And look on the bright side. You didn’t even have to beat anyone up this time. Let’s celebrate. Break out the good stuff. What do you say?”

Matt groans just a little. It’s getting late and he’s tired, and tomorrow’s gonna be a long day of paperwork and court dates and phone calls. He needs to be sharp for that, sharper than he would be with a supersized hangover, like he will have if he gives in to Foggy’s suggestion.

“Rain check on that one?” he tentatively asks.

“Fine,” Foggy lifts his arms in resignation. “Have it your way, Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes. Although I gotta say, you always _were_ the smart one out of the two of us.”

+-+-+-+-+

Over the next week or two, Matt keeps an eye on Kiera’s case as best as he can. Paperwork is being processed, red tape at its best, until Brett gives Matt another call. The case has been put on hold because Zack is now under investigation for suspicion of unlawful conduct. Brett doesn’t have all the details, but it looks to be something about some shady connections in his past.

Matt walks straight over to Foggy’s office, where he finds him poring over his laptop. “Hey Foggy?”

“Yeah?”

“I, uh... Brett just called. There’s a hiccup with Kiera’s case.” He explains what he knows to Foggy, and then tells him that he wants to offer to represent Zack, in case there are allegations that turn out to be true.

Foggy shrugs—more clients means more money. Matt tells him that he doubts Zack could afford a privately hired lawyer, since lack of money was what got him in trouble in the first place.

Predictably, it makes Foggy bristle. “You wanna take on another pro-bono case? Of the guy who was planning to send a fucking strike team to take you out? No, Matt. I mean, even casting the Retributionist aside, we need to start generating revenue. You know that, right? Some time this century, unless you wanna end up living on the streets. We can’t keep playing the good Samaritans just because we feel like it.”

Matt sighs. “This is different.”

“Yeah, but all the other cases were _‘different’_ , too. And then there’s gonna be a next one, and a next one, and a next one.”

“Foggy, you weren’t there. You’d change your mind if you were.”

It’s Foggy’s turn to sigh. “If I said no, would that stop you?”

He slowly shakes his head. “Probably not.”

Foggy’s arms come up in a resigned _there-we-go_ gesture. “It’s the last time, I swear, Murdock.”

“Thanks, Foggy.”

“Yeah. Don’t make me regret it.”

+-+-+-+-+

It takes Matt another day to look into the details and get a hold of Zack to lay out his offer. There’s skepticism at first, which is to be expected. Matt manages to iron it out. He manages to convince Zack and Kiera to come into the office and talk things over in person.

When they arrive, introductions are made, and there are almost awkward smiles when Zack explains to his daughter that Matt is also blind. Matt listens to her heartbeat for any sign of hesitation or recognition, and all the signs tell him no, this is a good thing.

“Why don’t we go into the meeting room?” Matt indicates the door to their right, and just like that, the ice is broken and already melting quickly.

They talk about their options. Foggy is giving his best to be friendly and accommodating, but Matt can tell he’s still slightly annoyed that they’re taking on yet another client for little profit. Matt decides to ignore it, maybe Foggy has earned the right to be aggravated.

The conversation takes an interesting turn when Zack asks what Foggy and Matt think of Daredevil and what he’s doing. Foggy lets Matt take the lead on answering that one, and Matt says that he thinks Daredevil is doing what he does for the right reasons, although his methods may be questionable to some.

Zack nods, and Matt can only imagine what he’s thinking.

“Have either of you ever met him?” Zack asks.

Karen looks him straight in the eye. “He saved my life, actually. Like Kiera, and like you, I was attacked. If he hadn’t been there, I would not be sitting here today.”

Zack nods. He would know what Karen is talking about. Matt feels a little surge of pride—the whole thing is as much about saving the city as it is about saving lives. It’s remarkably rewarding to see the good he does actually reflect in the people around him.

Zack harrumphs and admits, “You know, for a while I wasn’t sure what to think about the whole… uh, Daredevil thing. Quite frankly, I thought he was a lunatic who went around killing people, wreaking havoc, enjoying all the media attention. Turns out I was wrong about that.”

Matt can’t help but smile at that. Maybe Foggy is noticing. He hopes it’s not too conspicuous.

+-+-+-+-+

Their meeting is the last that Foggy and Matt see of Kiera and Zach for a while—in fact, there are times when it seems to Matt that the case is taking forever.

Matt grits his teeth every time Foggy reminds him that the wheels of justice grind slowly, and that no amount of Daredeviling would change that. It’s a little too often that he catches himself thinking perhaps it’s time to pay a few visits, remind a few people of the difference between methodical process and deliberate stalling. The one time he acts on it, he walks away from the courthouse with a grin on his face—and it feels good to know that in this particular situation, Matt Murdock was the one helping out, rather than Daredevil.

It’s about four months later that they run into each other in the courthouse. Well, truth be told, Matt had kept an eye on the court session schedule and now conveniently lingers in the shadows in front of their courtroom, waiting for them to come out.

It doesn’t take long for people to spill out into the hallway. Matt hears her cane approaching, her speaking softly to her father. Matt steps closer when they come out of the room. “Kiera?” he asks.

She stops, turns to him, looks for clues. “Mr. Murdock?”

He smiles, even though he knows she can’t see it. “Matt,” he corrects. “How are you?”

Zack sighs. “I wish you would have told us just how tedious these court sessions are.”

Matt shrugs. “An unfortunate downside of our trade. I trust it’s going well?”

“You tell me. I can’t keep up with all the legal mumbo-jumbo most of the time. This isn’t a coincidence—you being here—is it?”

Matt harrumphs, moving just a little further into a quiet corner. “Quite frankly, the DA was dragging their heels on Kiera’s case. You can imagine why I would have a special interest in justice being served here.”

“I’m not sure I understand,” Zack says.

Matt smiles for Zack’s benefit. “Your separate case was complicating things, but there was no evidence of Kiera’s involvement in your case. I made sure the DA knew we were watching them for obstruction of justice. I may have ruffled a few feathers that jolted her into action.”

Zack sounds genuinely grateful. “Thank you. Thank you so much for all you’ve done.”

Matt widens his smile. “My pleasure.”

+-+-+-+-+

It’s a day later—the two of them working late—that Foggy ambles into Matt’s office, leaning casually against the doorframe. “So what is this I hear about you rattling a few cages at the DA’s office?”

Matt tries to give him what he thinks is his best innocent expression, but he knows he can’t quite hide the mischievous grin that mixes in with it. “Rattling cages would be overstating it a little bit.”

“This was about the blind kid, wasn’t it?”

“Kiera,” he confirms.

“Do I want to know what happened?”

“No.”

Foggy’s tone loses its playfulness. “Seriously, Murdock, if this falls back on us as a law firm, I should know.”

“It’s fine, Foggy. I just pointed out a few shortcomings that, ultimately, they couldn’t help but agree that they could have been handled with more care.”

Not that Matt can truly tell, but he thinks Foggy is now also smirking. “Delivering it on a silver platter, with a smile and the old Murdock charm, I’m sure. Sometimes I wish I had a fraction of those skills.”

“You have plenty of charm, Foggy.”

“Yeah, minus the puppy dog eyes.”

Matt can’t help but let out a little chuckle. “Uh-huh. I’ll have to trust you on that.”

Foggy stays in the doorway for another few seconds before he says, “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Enjoying what?”

“This whole case. It’s like the Murdock-Daredevil double-dose. First you beat the asshats up, and then you get to watch them be dragged through the justice system the way they’re supposed to. Dream come true for you, buddy.”

He can’t hide a smile. “Can you blame me?”

“Nope. Not at all. ‘Cause this? This is the life. For you.”

Matt’s expression turns more serious. “And you’re okay with it?”

Foggy shrugs. “Jury’s still out on that one. But it’s not like I can stop you, so…”

Matt just nods. He doesn’t feel like he wants to go around round on this. They’ve had too many already. Before Matt can think of something to say, Foggy waves an arm at Matt and says, “Look, now we ruined the mood. So let’s conveniently skip the topic, shall we?”

Matt’s smile is a lot more forced, but it’s there. “Yes, let’s.”

Foggy’s own smile seems more genuine. “Awesome. Coffee?”

“No, thanks.”

Foggy conspiratorially whispers, “Good choice.”

+-+-+-+-+

 _Dear Mr. Murdock,_ the e-mail started that Matt had opened the next day. It was from Kiera, sent to his Nelson  & Murdock mailbox. Short and to the point, asking him if they can meet in person. Matt had frowned, but replied with a suggestion for a time and place.

He’s chosen the little café on the corner, which is very busy during the lunchtime bustle, but after 3 pm generally quiet. It’s one of the few places with good food that offer a Braille menu, and is easy to navigate, even without enhanced senses. The staff know him and how to act around blind customers, which is also a plus.

He waits outside at the appointed time, and he can hear her approach five minutes later. Inside, he asks for the table in the corner that they’re guided to by Ethel—the middle-aged waitress who Matt knows appears a little gruff at first, but really is a lot kinder than she gets credit for.

They settle in, folding up their canes, fumbling awkwardly with small talk until their beverages are delivered. Matt indulges Kiera, knowing she'll broach whatever topic when she's ready.

He has no idea what's on her mind, but she eventually takes another sip from her chai latte (the tangy aroma is unforgivingly harsh in Matt's nose), puts her glass down on the table, and lets out a breath. “I’m not sure how to say this, but… Shit, I’m just gonna say it. You’re him, aren’t you? Daredevil?”

The world crashes to a halt for a split second, because whatever topic he may have expected, it wasn't _this_. He keeps very still, holds his breath, makes sure there's no one within earshot.

The silence drags on, and Kiera says, “It’s fine, you don’t have to say anything. I get that it’s not a thing you want to disclose to strangers. But your voice, our case, what you said to my dad—

“I know it’s crazy, but when he rescued me, there was just something that was… off. He… did all the right things, like he _knew_. Knew what it’s like to be blind in a world that isn’t. And that’s… I mean, I know it’s impossible, but it’s not, is it. Are you him—Daredevil?”

Matt is flustered for a moment, glad that she can’t read his facial expression, because he isn’t sure he’s been able to slip on the figurative mask quickly enough. “Daredevil?” he lets out a chuckle that he hopes doesn’t sound too nervous. “How could I be? I’m a blind lawyer. What would make you think that?”

He senses that she’s shrugging. “Call it a hunch.”

“Like you said, that’s impossible,” he denies.

She sighs. “Just like all the other things that are impossible when you’re blind.”

He pours all the encouragement into his voice that he can. “Only if you let them.”

She lets out a resigned chuckle. “Yeah, I guess that's easy for you to say. You’ve got a life, a degree, a job you’re good at. I’m not even sure how I’m supposed to get through college. How did you do it?”

He smiles, thinking back to that day he stumbled into their dorm room and ran straight into his lifeline. “I was lucky enough to have all the help I needed. I know it’s not always easy, because you don’t want to give up your independence, and I had to learn this the hard way, but sometimes you just gotta drop your pride and ask for help.”

Matt is glad that Foggy’s not here to hear this, because he’s sure there would have been snorts and vehement comments about how Matt is the biggest bonehead he knows, and not to believe a single word he’s saying. But that doesn’t mean that Matt doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Because he couldn’t have made it through college without Foggy—and that’s a fact.

He adds, “I know it’s easier said than done, but find someone you can trust. Let them help you. Check in with Disability Services. Never be afraid to ask for things you’re entitled to. Fight for them, if you have to. Don’t take any shit from the haters.”

She lets out a little laugh. “You make it sound so easy.”

“Do you have someone you can go to for help?”

“Yeah. Well, not sure we can get into the same school, but there’s always Skype, right? Your person, did you know them before college?”

“We now run a law firm together.”

“Foggy?”

“Yeah. We were roommates, that’s how we met. Coincidence, mostly. Some might call it fate. Best thing that ever happened to me.”

“He’s a lucky guy.”

Matt has to grin, because Foggy might want to argue that’s a debatable statement. “Listen. If _I_ could do this, you can too. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

“Yeah, tell that to my dad. How did your parents react when you told them you wanted to go to college?”

Matt falters for a moment, but quickly recovers. “I was orphaned at eleven.”

He can hear Kiera's heartbeat increase, feels her cheeks flush. “I'm sorry.”

He gives her a smile, not sure it means anything to her. “In some ways, it taught me exactly what I'm telling you now. Sure, I had to fight extra hard to make it to that point, but it also made me want to work even harder to come out the other end.”

“And you did, and now you’re a successful lawyer. I'm sure your parents would be proud of you.”

“Just like your father is proud of _you_ , Kiera.”

She sighs. “I just wish he wasn’t such a dickhead about it most of the time.”

“He just worries about you.”

“Yeah, I know. But I’m not a kid he has to take by the hand and guide everywhere anymore. I’m not sure how to make him understand that.”

“Would you like me to talk to him?”

“No,” she says immediately. “He’d hate that. Thanks, though. Maybe this helped—you know, him meeting you and everything.”

Matt nods. “Yeah, I hope so.”

“What university did you go to?”

“Columbia.”

“That’s where Dad wants me to go.”

“But you’d prefer somewhere else?”

She hesitates. “I don’t know. The city… it can get a little oppressive. Do you know what I mean?”

In fact, he doesn’t. He’s always loved the city—its bustle of activity, the people, the sheer size of it. Then again, he can only imagine that it would be quite overwhelming and confusing for someone without enhanced senses.

“Where would you rather go?”

“Cornell sounds great. They work with the AFB, and there are disability representatives and guide dog programs.”

“Sounds like you’ve done your research.”

She laughs a light laugh. “Yeah, that’s me. Research is totally my thing.”

They keep talking for another half hour, and Matt feels very at home with her. He’s sure she’ll do great at university, whichever one she chooses.

He makes sure to offer his help in whatever way he can, and she thanks him after he pays for their coffees. As he shakes her hand and waits for a few moments as she walks away in the opposite direction, he hopes she’ll keep in touch.

+-+-+-+-+

When he gets back to their office, Foggy and Karen are gathered in the meeting room, working on the Hobson case.

Upon peeking his head through the door, Karen gives him a quick, “Hey, Matt,” greeting. Foggy groans, lifts his arms up and stretches his torso, his shoulder joint popping in the process. “Ouch,” he grumbles.

Matt shoots him a grin. “Just another indication that you should be hitting the gym a little more often. Or, you know, at all.”

Foggy ignores the jibe and comments, “Did you bring coffee?”

“Was I supposed to?”

“Yes,” Foggy says with fervor. “Absolutely yes. Please tell me you’re joking.”

“I’m sorry,” he says earnestly. In fact, he is a little annoyed that he didn’t think of it in the first place.

“You’re a dick.”

Matt still smiles, because he can tell Foggy doesn’t mean it, which is also evidenced by the fact that Foggy continues unperturbed, “But more importantly, Murdock, check your e-mail.”

He frowns but goes into his office, booting up his laptop. The e-mail from Foggy has a URL embedded, which he clicks after he’s put in one of his ear buds.

Foggy is now standing opposite his desk, watching him. “So, what’s it say?”

Matt reads back to Foggy what he hears. “Four. Zero. Four. Page not found.”

“Retributionists website. Poof. Gone. We did it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. This calls for celebration, don’t you think? Cause you know what would be great right now? Overpriced coffee. I can almost smell the caramel mocha latte that needs to find its way up here. Can you smell it, Murdock?”

Matt indulges him, sniffs theatrically. Twice. “Yeah, I can smell it. Double whipped cream. Bit too heavy on the caramel syrup. It’s sliding down the side of the cup.”

“So unfair. You’re making me drool.”

Matt puts aside his earplugs and gets up from his chair. “Tell you what, I’ll make it up to you and get some. My treat.”

He stops by Karen’s desk in the next room. “I’m going for a celebratory coffee run. Vanilla latte for you?”

“That would be great. What exactly are we celebrating again?”

Foggy explains, “The Retributionists website went boom.”

She flashes a smile at them. “Wow, that’s great! Score one for Team Daredevil.”

“Team Daredevil?” Matt asks.

“Yeah. It has its own hashtag and everything.”

“Hashtag?” Matt asks, even more puzzled.

“On Twitter. Don’t tell me you don’t know what Twitter is.”

“I know what Twitter is. I didn’t know there were Daredevil hashtags.”

“And where have you been the last six months? It’s totally a thing.”

Matt points his head in Foggy’s direction. “Did you know about this?”

He shrugs, then adds it as a commentary because Karen’s there. “FYI: I’m shrugging. Yes, of course I know about this. Some of the tweets are hilarious. You wouldn’t believe how many alleged Double-D sightings there are. Lots of grainy and blurry night shots, too.”

“Double-D?” Matt asks again. “Is that a hashtag too?”

“Matter of fact,” Foggy says, “It is. Two Ds, first one upper case, second one lower case. It’s kinda sexy.”

Matt sighs incredulously. “That’s just silly.”

“Let’s face it, the guy’s a phenomenon. And, come on. Don’t you wanna be on Team Daredevil? We’re even sexier than the hashtag.”

“Okay, I’m leaving,” Matt comments dryly, picking up his cane by the door. “I’ll be right back.”

Karen asks, “Do you want me to come with you?”

“No, thanks, I’m good.”

“Don’t fall down any manholes!” Foggy calls after him, and Matt chuckles.

“Very funny, Foggy,” he calls back before he leaves their offices.

He can’t help himself and listens in to some of Foggy and Karen’s light banter as he descends the stairs. This is how it’s supposed to be.

He lets his fingers graze the metal plaque by the door on his way out. Nelson & Murdock – Attorneys at Law.

He mentally adds another subheading: Small but awesome.

+-+-+-+-+

 


End file.
